


West Elm

by katfoxmandu



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, In a way, It is, SuperCorp, but not directly, if you don't know you should just read it, that's the spirit, you know?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:37:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katfoxmandu/pseuds/katfoxmandu
Summary: Lena buys an expensive, comfy couch.Lillian thinks Lena is a mess.Wine.A big secret gets exposed.Lena may or may not cry a little.Some texting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been fascinated by what would happen if Lillian told Lena about Kara being Supergirl. 
> 
> Well there it is. Ruined the whole deal.  
> Read it anyway. 
> 
> Salud.

It was the softest couch that West Elm had to offer. One that nearly swallows you whole, death by cushions and pillows, a burial of plush throws and Afghans. I’ll take it, she’d said.

After a late night at the office, it’s all Lena can think about: sinking into the depths of her expensive yet mismatched furniture while the hum of the city moves on without her. She’d designed her apartment this way for a reason. Lena didn’t want to be reminded of the stark offices of L Corp when she arrived home. The crisp white edges and neat lines. It’s all too harsh and modern, like an updated version of the Luthor Mansion which had been pristine in a more Victorian way.

She’d vowed to make her own home a Luthor anomaly. One that her mother would despise so that if, on the rare occasion she might visit, she would be persuaded to never visit again. It would have thick carpets and large couches. Wooden coffee tables stacked with books about far away cities and biographical masterpieces. There would be paintings and knickknacks. She’d collect souvenirs and random objects, displaying them in book shelves and end tables. The walls would have color! Soft blues and deep purples. A splash of yellow and green. The curtains would flutter with a soft breeze from large windows. A piano covered in sheet music. Candles of every scent. It would be a home. It would scream for you to sit down and stay a while. Visit and have a drink. Laugh and play games. Have deep conversations and make connections. That, Lena thought, is what homes are for.

But for now, the dream is still only partially realized. For despite having the decorations and paint colors, piles of books and open windows, the only person staying for a while is Lena. Alone. On the softest couch West Elm had to offer.

She’d left her heels near the door, haphazardly strewn in the entryway. There’s no one else to worry about tripping over them. Her purse dangles from one of the kitchen chairs. Her coat is flung across the table. Her keys rest on the counter, missing the designated bowl by the door by at least ten feet.

Lena’s shirt is untucked, her bun loose, and her eyes are closed. This week had been particularly strenuous and not one that she’d like to relive. L Corp had done well, progressing further in its innovative green technology, but at the cost of late nights and multiple conference calls. Adding to the mix was infrastructure damage from National City’s superhero at a few of L Corp’s lab sites. The financial burden and insurance paperwork is growing tiresome. Don’t even mention the last minute buying of CatCo.

One hand pinches the bridge of her nose before she moves to run her fingers through her hair. It comes out of the bun completely, sending bobby pins scattering, many lost indefinitely into the cracks between cushions. It’s the least of Lena’s worries.

A knock on the door brings Lena out of her small moment of peace and quiet.

It’s an unusual sound. A personal visit is extremely rare, not even Kara has been to her apartment, save the time she’d dropped a very drunk Lena off at her door step and tried her hardest to help Lena inside. But Lena had adamantly refused, suddenly finding herself quite sober. For all the times she wishes she had someone to share the comfort of her apartment with, the thought of actually opening up to that possibility is like taking the first step off a 30 foot diving board: nearly impossible.

The knock comes again. Lena sits up slowly, unsure of who it could be or what she should do. A robber? An alien abduction? Maybe the delivery boy from the Thai place across the street got confused and came to her door instead? She forgot her umbrella in the lobby and Jerry is dropping it off? Lena glances to the umbrella stand in the corner and sure enough, there it sits. One possibility ruled out.

A third knock. This time it’s heavier. Impatient.

Lena stands, one hand reaching for her phone, but it’s succumbed to the throws of the couch, lost in the blankets. It’ll take too long to find it.

She slowly makes her way to the front door, not a long journey by any means. But the anticipation of who could be on the other side drags out the suspense.

A turn of the knob right when a fourth knock threatens. A burglar could never get past security. Aliens would much rather enter via the balcony. And the Thai place is closed. She pulls the door open, holding her breath yet accepting her fate on the other side.

“Lena, darling, you look terrible.”

Lillian’s tight smirk almost masks the insult, but Lena hears it loud and clear.

“Mother,” she says. It’s the first time Lillian has paid a home visit. It’s the first time Lillian has made any contact with Lena in…in months. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a mother come visit her daughter? Is that a _crime_?” Lillian draws out the last word, her smirk spreading even further across her face.

Lena pulls the door open just wide enough to allow Lillian to enter. She knows she shouldn’t. She knows exactly what this means. She’s harboring a fugitive, a terrorist. The woman who tried to have her killed on multiple occasions, who uses her and then spits her out when she’s done.

But for some reason Lena finds herself weak to her mother’s presence. She silently lets her in the apartment and watches as the taller women surveys her daughter’s living quarters. Lillian’s eyes take it all in, glancing down at the discarded shoes and raising her eyebrows at the coat-covered table, the open bottle of wine on the counter. No wine glass.

Lillian turns back to face Lena, once again judging her disheveled appearance.

“Lena, this really isn’t a good look on you,” she says, taking a few steps closer to fix a stray hair, gently fix an upturned collar.

Lena bites her lip and asks for the second time, “What are you doing here?”

Lillian acknowledges the cool tones and retreats into the apartment, “Just the warm welcome I’d expected. But no time for games, I see.” She turns back around to face Lena who still hasn’t moved from the entryway.

“How did you get past security? Did Jerry let you in?” Lena’s questions are cut off by Lillian’s laughter. At this point she’s settled into one of the armchairs near the fireplace. She motions for Lena to join her, who begrudgingly does so.

“Lena, I run a top secret organization. I can enter any building I want to, no doorman is going to stop that,” Lilian crosses her legs, her hands resting on her knees.

A small bout of silence spreads between them. Their last interaction had been full of high stakes. Saving the planet with the lead device, Lena going behind her mother’s back to give Supergirl the remote. In the end, Lena realized her mother had merely wanted any chance she had to kill aliens. Lena was simply, yet again, a tool that would help get her there.

“What do you want?” Lena breaks the silence.

Lillian folds her hands together and sits up in the chair. She’s about to speak when Lena interrupts.

“Don’t tell me you want my help.”

Lillian’s mouth pauses and she cocks her head slightly, “Is that what you think this is? Me coming to beg for your help on yet another vendetta against the planet’s alien population?” Lena can tell Lillian is enjoying this. She’s drawing it out on purpose.

“From all of my past experiences, yes. That’s exactly that I think,” Lena responds.

“Well, you’re right. I’m here to recruit you.”

“What makes you think I’m going to agree to that?”

Lillian’s smirk turns devilish as she leans forward, “Because you have no one else.” She sits back in the chair and gestures around the room, “Look at this. You have this large, poorly decorated I might add, apartment. You’re the CEO of what, two companies now? And for what? You come home each night looking like-“ she points to Lena’s appearance, yet again “- and for what?” She repeats.

Lena looks away. She’s fighting the burning sensation starting behind her eyes. Stop it. Stop it.

“That’s not true,” she finally says.

“Oh but it is, darling. It is,” Lillian stands and comes closer. “That Danvers girl you are so fond of. I see the way you look at her.”

Lena starts at the mention of Kara, the sudden change of direction in the conversation.  She regrets it instantly. Lillian notices and digs deeper, knowing she’s hit a nerve.

“Anyone with eyes can see the way you look at her,” Lillian says. “But does she? You bought CatCo for her-“

“That was a business deal, it wasn’t-“ but she’s cut off as Lillian continues.

“-you cancel meetings to go to lunch with her-“

“I…how do you know that…”

“You send her, a novice reporter with no educational background in journalism, on your hardest hitting stories-“

“She’s talented…I want the best…”

“You saved the world for her, multiple times-“

“What?”

“The isotope, the lead diffusor, the chemicals-“

“That was for Supergirl, I was helping Supergirl…”

“One and the same, Lena, one and the same.”

Lillian stops in her pacing of the living room to take in Lena’s reaction. Her mouth hangs open slightly, her eyebrows begin to furrow. She stands, her hands fidget, she needs something to hold, something to stop the spinning…

“Lena don’t tell me you didn’t know?” Lillian asks. She’s won. She knows it. “You’re aligning yourself with a girl who can’t even tell you the truth. Yet you throw yourself at her. And each night you come home to this? Drunk by 7PM? Alone?”

The burning returns and this time Lena doesn’t try to stop it.

“She’s using you, Lena. Using you. Can’t you see it? At least I’ve been clear with you, I’ve been honest. Your brilliant mind is going to waste. I mean, a multi-media company? Lena, what were you thinking? All for a pretty girl who won’t reciprocate. I, however, know your potential. I won’t waste it.”

The tears fall slowly. They carve a path down her cheeks as she makes her way to the kitchen. The wine bottle. No glass.

“Does she know, Lena? Does little Kara Danvers, _does_ _Supergirl_ , know that you’re like this? That you come home each night and drink yourself to sleep? That your motivations are more than friendship? Does she know about Veronica? Or Helena? Sam?”

Lena sets down the bottle and steadies herself against the counter. The truth of Lillian’s words are colliding in her mind. It was something Lena hadn’t let herself consider, that Supergirl and Kara were one and the same. Of course, the evidence was monumental. There were obvious ties yet Lena chose to ignore it. She wanted to live normally. Have normal friends. Normal relationships.

Yet here she is, in love with an alien.

Lillian sets her hand on Lena’s arm, an act that is mean to be comforting but instead sends chills through Lena’s body.

“She’s using you, Lena. She’s been lying to you all this time.”

“How…how do you know…” Lena stammers.

Lillian’s hand moves from Lena’s arm to the back of her head, where it rests ever so slightly before she pulls away.

“Shhh, my darling,” Lillian whispers. “I’m the head of a secret organization, it doesn’t matter how I know. It simply matters that I know.”

Lena shakes her head and turns to look at Lillian, but finds her on her way out the door.

“Lena, dear. Remember who raised you. Who taught you everything. Who is standing in your apartment right now and who isn’t. Remember that. You’re brilliant, Lena. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

With those final words, the door clicks shut and the apartment is once again Lena’s and only Lena’s. She staggers slightly back to the couch and allows herself to be swallowed by the blankets and pillows. A few small adjustments in her position unveil her previously missing cellphone.

One message.

From: Kara Danvers.

‘See you tomorrow, boss.’

Lena hesitates ever so slightly before sending her response as images flash through her mind. That’s what friends are for. I will always protect you.

You’re my favorite.

She hits send: 

‘<3’  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kind soul asked for more.   
> So here it is!  
> Bless Lena's apartment, may we one day see it.  
> And bless Ruby for being the lucky duck to sleep there.

The keys make it into the bowl with a soft cling. The coat gently swings before settling on the hanger in the closet next to the front door. The purse is on the kitchen counter. A pair of high heels sit neatly near the table, slipped off before Lena found her way to the living room. To the most comfortable couch West Elm had to offer.

She sits down, glass of wine in her hand, the gift from Kara Danvers in her other.

The planner.

Lena thumbs the pages, runs her fingers over the cover. It’s very simple. Leather-bound.  A bright blue bow sits on top, indicating the fact that this is, in fact, a gift. From Kara Danvers. Supergirl.

Lena clenches her jaw at the thought and swallows. The truth from her mother had come as a shock. Once Lillian had left the apartment, Lena had spent the night going over and over in her mind the minute details. The evidence that this was the reality. After hours of lying in bed with her mind spinning, she’d finally gotten up and made a spread sheet on her laptop, organizing the disappearances and the reappearances. Each conversation. Each life-saving situation. And it all lined up. It all made sense.

She’d been tempted to call Kara, as a way to confront her.

Three in the morning, a slightly drunk and upset Lena, screaming into the phone her frustrations. Why didn’t she trust me? Why don’t you trust me?! You can trust me!

Her fingers had never dialed the number.

They texted it instead. A simple announcement that she’d be coming into CatCo that morning. Nothing more, nothing less.

The confrontation had to be in person. It had to be face to face. To witness the transformation herself. To watch Kara take off the glasses, take down her hair, unbutton her shirt…Lena blinks quickly, her heart racing.

The planner, yes. The planner.

Handed to her from an out of breath Kara. Was she running? No, flying. Obviously. The bus. Oh my god, the bus.

Lena sits up slightly from the couch as she realizes this connection, making a mental note to add it to her spreadsheet. She’d been so infatuated with the young reporter that day in her office she’d let the flying bus comment slip. A mistake and fumbling of words. And everyone makes mistakes. We’re all human, aren’t we? Well, not Kara.

Lena sits back again, biting her lip.

The confrontation had never happened. Lena had planned it all day, from her walks through the offices to her sit-ins in all of the meetings. Each moment had been consumed with how to do it. Pull her aside after the staff meeting? At her desk? In James’s office? Except each time Lena went to do so, Kara wasn’t there. She never showed for the staff meeting. Her desk sat empty. James’s office only held, well, James.

The confrontation that did happen, however, wasn’t the one she’d been planning on. Lena had been angry and upset. All of her frustrations about the secret, this underlying truth, fueled the anger about Kara’s absence and lack of concern for her job. Lena hadn’t yelled, of course not. That wasn’t in her nature. She liked things subtle. Lena’s anger came out in biting remarks and stiff comments. It was displayed in her body language and an upward tilt of her head. The mental note behind each phrase being, “I’m better than you and I know it.”

She’d done this to Kara.

And hated every moment of it.

Lena turns open the first page of the planner. She’s shocked to find her name written in Kara’s neat handwriting followed by a gentle note wishing her good luck. It’s completely unexpected and yet wholeheartedly welcomed.

She continues turning pages, realizing quickly there are random lunch dates filled in throughout the year.

7 April 12:30 Noonan’s.

21 March 1:00 Bowlology 

14 June 12:30 Greenwich Pasta Palace

9 October 12:00 Tibetan food stand on 3rd and Mason

And so it goes. Handfuls of dates with varying times and even more diverse restaurants. A pizza appointment here. Chinese a few days later. A tapas bar the next week. And after each one, written neatly under the date, time, and location, a large: ‘lunch with Kara’. Followed by a smiley face. 

How…how had she done this? Lena keeps looking through the planner. Lunch dates jump out at her from nearly every page. Mongolian barbeque, sushi, Italian pizzerias, taco trucks, diners. It’s as though Kara has documented every restaurant in National City in the planner. To be enjoyed with Lena.

Lena flips to today’s date, wondering out of curiosity if anything had been planned. And sure enough, in the same small penmanship, a time and location.

Dinner. 7:30. Blue Spoon.

She looks up to check the time. 8:15.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Lena jumps up from the couch, tripping over the pile of blankets, her knees hitting the coffee table, a few books falling to the floor. A quick reshuffling and a few more swear words later, Lena has her shoes and coat on, purse over her shoulder, and her phone in hand. It lays silent and dark. Despite being 45 minutes late for dinner, Kara hasn’t said a word. No reminder, no asking where she is. Lena pauses in the doorway. Does she go? Kara had said nothing about it at the office. They’d all walked out together, her, Sam, and Kara. Perhaps Sam’s presence had discouraged Kara from saying anything. It was their little secret.

Secrets.

Lena sighs, her feet bobbing slightly. Despite Lillian divulging Kara’s alter-ego or the hours she spent creating the spreadsheet, Lena can’t help but be smitten by her. The fact that she flies about fighting crime in her spare time, and work time, changes nothing. She’s still Kara Danvers. Who sends flirty texts and creates thoughtful gifts at the last minute. Who sets up lunch dates for an entire year. Who plans you-survived-your-first-day celebrations.

Who Lena loves.

So she goes, a flick of the switch dousing her apartment in blackness, leaving behind the warmth and comfort, hoping to find it somewhere else. From someone else.

++++

Blue Spoon is completely full when Lena arrives. If Kara had waited nearly an hour for Lena to show she’d be surprised. A quick scan of the restaurant reveals her, however, the lone ranger in a room full of laughing couples and loud groups. She sits quietly at a table for two. Alone. Her head resting on a fist as she surveys the others, the table in front of her empty except for an untouched glass of wine.

“Kara,” Lena says as she approaches.

The sound of name pulls the blonde from her thoughts and she looks up with a start.

“Lena! You came!” the excitement in Kara’s eyes replace the melancholy expression that had covered her features seconds before. She stands, pulling Lena in for a tight hug.

It’s warming, the hug. Lena had never noticed this before, the way that Kara runs hot. It’s as though she’s a personal heater. Lena melts into it. She doesn’t want it to end and holds on a moment too long when Kara tries to pull away. A soft laugh accompanies the surprise in Kara’s voice as she leans back into the hug and whispers, “I’m so glad you came.”

The dinner is comfortable. It’s as though Lena is sitting at home in her big soft couch, surrounded by blankets and pillows. Except it’s Kara. It’s the way she tucks her hair behind her ears or furrows her eyebrows when she’s confused. It’s the sound of her voice or the animation of her hands when she gets excited. It’s how she asks questions or the sudden show of seriousness and concern when the topic turns personal. It’s the way she reached across the table to take Lena’s hand. How she helped Lena into her coat as they prepared to leave. It was better than any couch West Elm had to offer.

When they arrive outside, Kara quickly offers to walk Lena home.

“Oh no, Kara, you don’t have to,” Lena says.

“I know, but I want to,” Kara responds, immediately shutting down any other possibility of Lena saying no. She loops her arm through Lena’s and they begin walking in the direction of Lena’s apartment.

After a block of silence, Lena finally says, “So, that planner.”

Kara laughs, her hand running down Lena’s arm to intertwine with Lena’s fingers. Her heart jumps.

 “Yes, yes, the planner. You know, I wasn’t sure if it would work.”

“If it would work? What do you mean?” Lena asks.

Kara pauses a moment before turning to look at Lena, “Lena, I filled it with dates.” She says this as though Lena is supposed to know what this explanation means, but it leaves her all the more clueless.

“Dates? Kara, it’s just lunch. There’s no need to be nervous, we’ve gotten lunch before…” Lena says.

Kara stays silent before responding. One foot lightly kicks a stray pebble that shoots much too far and much too quickly down the sidewalk.

“What if I want it to be more than just lunch?”

Lena stops walking, pulling Kara to a stop alongside her, and asks, “Was tonight more than just dinner?”

Kara’s eyes glance upwards and she bites her cheek. Her free hand adjusts her glasses, pushing the frames back up her nose.

Before she can respond Lena answers, “Because I want it to be more than just dinner. And more than just lunch.”

At this Kara’s eyes find Lena’s. She’s slightly taken aback at this, “Y-you do?”

Lena nods and then laughs as Kara continues asking for reassurance, “You do? You really do?” Kara takes both of Lena’s hands in hers, guiding her the few steps backwards until Lena’s back finds the wall of the building they’re walking past.

“I do! I really do!” Lena laughs, inserting her own confirmations between Kara’s incredulity. She stops when she finds Kara’s face mere inches from her own, her hands on her waist. Lena’s eyes flicker down towards Kara’s lips before settling back at her eyes.

“I want it to be more,” she whispers.

At this Kara smiles and leans in, her lips finding Lena’s.

It’s everything she’d wanted it to be. More than she imagined. And better than the most comfortable couch West Elm had to offer.

 


End file.
